


Super Rat

by Marquiskilljoy



Series: Sister Wolf [1]
Category: World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Werewolf: The Forsaken - Freeform, World of Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14583366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquiskilljoy/pseuds/Marquiskilljoy
Summary: A short story, and quite possibly the beginning of a novel, starring my character Tessa 'Cub' Gilligan. A young woman who is a werewolf. In this story she struggles with both a sexist pig and her mental health issues.





	Super Rat

Early morning’s chill hovers in the air, highlighting the rising sun as the purple sky becomes pinker. Cub cups the cigarette with shaking hands as she tries to produce a spark from her lighter. Erratically she throws the lighter away, out into the frosted grass behind the house, and hits the banister of the porch with the palm of her hand. With a sigh of frustration she leans forward with her face in her hands, her blue hair cascading and an attempt at obscuring distress. She tries to take a few deep breaths in, steadying the shuddering in her chest. She turns, stumbling back inside through the wood and glass door. Kicking off her slippers she walks past the kitchen - which lies in an organised chaos - and towards her room, a less than organised chaos. She changes out of her pajamas, sitting on the end of the bed, slouching to pull socks on to her feet: her left dressed in pink with stripes and her right in red with dots. Once they are on she stares at her hands, clenching them into tight fists and then unclenching them. They are still shaking. Her nails leave indents on her palms, red and sore.  
The smell of decaffeinated warmth brings her to, as she finds herself now in the kitchen with the coffee machine brewing, the high-pitched beeps screaming.  
“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, grabbing the pot and pouring into the mint green mug.  
Her hands, having now stopped shaking, are warmed through the almost too-hot-to-touch ceramic. The screen of the phone lying on the counter lights up with a buzz, a message from Bri.

‘You coming over next week? X’

Cub presses the power button once, and flips the phone over. She stops herself from sighing by bringing the mug to her mouth, red lipstick leaving marks around the rim as she takes a sip - none too bothered by how hot it is, even as it burns her tongue.

***

“Thanks.” Cub says, handing the notes over to the cashier.  
Quickly stuffing the pack of new lighters into her bag she walks out of the crowded store, stepping to one side as someone enters. The noise of the inner-city hits her as she steps outside, cars honking and people chatting as they go about their day-to-day business. Cub plugs herself into her phone, drowning out the cacophony with music. Punk music. Swapping a babal for a more harmonious tune.  
The lazy sun crawls upwards, shedding light on the city and its streets, an attempt to wash away the sins of last night, burning the demons and the monsters that cling to the shadows. Shadows which shy away from Cub as she strides past alleyways and various packed stores. A few blocks ahead, bathing in the sunlight, green grass marks out one of the many parks- a picnic here and there as the sun reaches its zenith. She smiles to herself, fishing out one of her brand new lighters and a fresh cigarette. Her phones buzzes again, causing Cub to scowl. She pointedly leaves it unchecked in her pocket, opting to take a drag instead. Incredulous passersby stare at her, the icy gaze of mothers and older individuals judging this young woman for a choice of her own making. She returns each look with a smirk, right up until the white paper burns out and she deposits the blackened filter into a nearby bin. She checks her phone, shooting off a quick reply to that morning’s text. The itch of youthful boredom hits her, as her leg begins to tap rhythmically on the ground. An urge which she has to bury, as fingers trace the fierce mementos gained from the last few times this itch made itself clear. She begins to scratch her hand, between the thumb and forefinger, where the first of her scars sits, still ugly. She shoots off, a bitter taste in her mouth and not the good kind.  
She holds the cigarette between her fingers, staring into the smoke, at the fading orange light retreating up the skyscraper. Fresh burns graze the back of her throat, the nicotine rush forcing her fingers to tap on her thigh. Tap tap-a-tap-tap. The asshole who pushes past her knocks the smoke out of her hand, the burns form a growl as Cub storms after the man. He smells strongly of Chanel fragrance, and volatile chemicals.  
“Hey, dickhead, look where you’re goin’.” She pulls the guy back - a tall suit-clad businessman - who struggles to take back his arm, his face an expression of disgust.  
“What the- A girl like you shouldn’t be smoking those things, I was doing you a favour,” he snaps, the corner of his devilish mouth being pulled into a smirk.  
“A favour? What kinda deluded bullshit is that?” She argues back, stepping away from him. “That’s like me stealing your shoes and saying you’d walk better without ‘em. You gonna apologise or not?”  
“Maybe. Maybe I could buy you a drink, as a way of saying sorry.”  
“And what, pay for it with your drug money? Buy me a drink and then drug me? How naïve do you think I am?” Her fists curl up, her mouth a snarl.  
“Who do you take me for?” He protests, “I’m not one of those guys.” Hands raise defensively, attempting to wave away her worries.  
“You think that perfume is hiding the smell? You ain’t good at hiding those drugs buddy.” She pokes at his jacket, feeling the softness of the cloth but also finding the wrapped up package underneath.  
“Mind your own fucking business, bitch.” He pulls the blazer closer around him. “God, why did I bother even stopping to talk to you.”  
He steps forward, trying to loom over Cub.  
“What did you call me? You shouldn’t lash out, asshole, you’re the one carrying fucking drugs and trying to pick up random women in the street. Rethink your life before you tell me to fuck off.” She steps into him, pushing him backwards with a sharp shove.  
He retaliates, his reddened face betraying his anger as he swings at her. Cub’s too quick for him, ducking under the blow and bouncing back up with an uppercut to his chin. As fist meets face her arm is shocked by the jar of the impact, but she doesn’t care - following up with an elbow to his stomach. He keels over, hands holding his stomach.  
“Get fucked. Dickhead,” she snarls, turning away to compose herself before circling back to him, shaking her hands out.  
“Get lost, bitch,” he groans, now on his knees with his head resting on the grey concrete. She kicks him once, aiming for the hidden pack of cocaine. The resulting impact bursts it, white powder covering his suit.  
“Good luck explaining that, bitch.” Cub grumbles now walking away, pulling out another cigarette to replace the one she lost.

***

Cub swipes at the right boot, dusting off the white powder, the smell burning her nostrils.  
“This shit stinks,” she mutters, “how do people even snort this stuff?”  
She spits, a makeshift polish as her boots begin to look good-as-new despite the tear threatening to finally pull her boot apart.  
“With less sensitive noses,” replies the electronic voice. Cub’s phone sits on the porch banister next to her, one side is scratched with cracks running up and down the screen.  
“Oh hush, you know what I mean. The guy was such a loser, the epitome of rich-white-boy who uses daddy’s money to buy cocaine to fry his brain so that making hard decisions like ‘Oh, should I buy the jag or the ferrari?’ becomes easier.”  
She spits again, face knitting together as she rubs harder at the leather. The feminine voice on the other end of the phone laughs, and there’s sound of movement.  
“You know you should be careful. Man like that’s gonna come after yo-”  
“I know. You don’t need to tell me to hold back, he’s obviously not a Vamp or something weird- I won’t kill him. Just make sure he doesn’t go after other girls.” Cub picks herself up from the step, lifts the phone and presses a button, bringing it up to her ear. “I’ve got to go now… No, yeah I’ll stay safe. Love you.” She hangs up, depositing the phone into her pocket. Slinging her bag onto one shoulder she makes her way into the house, the audible click of the lock following after her.

***

Tap-a-tap-tap. Her nails clink against metal, the same tempo as before. The flask is almost empty, the water bottle sitting next to it not so empty. This brick wall provides a haunt, as Cub’s legs dangle over the edge. The low roof is easy to clamber up onto if you know how- a good place to wait when you know trouble is coming your way. She’s lying down facing the pink sky and candy-cotton-clouds floating peacefully. A good day for an ass-kicking. Now should be the right time, the sun beginning to sink after today’s tribulations. Cub swallows the spiky ball in her throat, drowning her anxiety with a swig of water. Below, on the street, her target rounds the corner as shifty looking as he was yesterday.  
Cub drops down into the sidealley, and prepares herself. She lowers her stance, back foot sliding into a ready position. The Chanel perfume wafts from around the corner, and the underlying scent that burns, less so than it did yesterday. His unsteady breathing is loud, footsteps faltering as he approaches the trap, but the steps stop completely. Not wanting to give away her position Cub waits a few moments listening for any hints the other may be giving. There’s the all too familiar soft click of metal, something that would have been missed by anyone else.  
“Come out where I can see you, I know it’s you, the fucking girl from yesterday. You don’t think I heard you clambering about up there?” He calls out, with a wavering but forceful voice.  
“Shit.” She raises her hands and turns the corner. “You don’t want to do this, dude.”  
The black hole of the barrel looks wistfully at her, the eyes behind it red and irritated - filled with murderous rage - highlighted by purple bruises.  
“You really want to have someone’s death on your conscience?” Cub stays where she is, a supernatural calm taking her over.  
“Shut it. You humiliated me, and you have to pay for that. You owe me one K worth of cocaine, and you’re gonna fucking give me that money or else.” He sways in a rocking back and forth motion.  
“Like Hell I am. I don’t owe you shit, and you having a gun isn’t going to change that. Just leave me alone before you make any terrible decisions, or you’re gonna get seriously hu-”  
“Fuck.”

***

Cub sits against the wall, the stunted pain reacting fuzzily as she probes. Blood has soaked her shirt, she isn’t sure if it’s his or hers.  
“Another fucking ruined shirt.” A little effort confirms that the bullet did indeed go through, and she relaxes, letting the wound close up and heal.  
“Wh- what the fuck are you?” Splutters the man, bloody spittle flying out of his mouth.  
“Oh shut up. You’re just having a bad trip.” She stands up, rolling her shoulders. “Listen here. You ever try this stunt again. If you try and fucking harass a woman again. I will fucking know, I’ll come and haunt your nightmares and your real life. You ever try and tell a woman what to do I’ll come back and tear your arm off. You fucking understand, creep?” He nods hurriedly, his eyes moving anxiously. Cub reaches into her pocket, pulling out a cigarette. “There’s only one thing that you’ve been right about this whole time. You want to know what that is?” He nods erratically, as she lights it. “I am a bitch. A bitch men should be scared of.”


End file.
